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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231632">though she be but little</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleIvy/pseuds/LittleIvy'>LittleIvy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, Bad Weather, Community: hp_drizzle, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, First Kiss, Forgiveness, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Memorials, Nightmares, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining, References to Shakespeare, Regret, Rivalry, Shakespeare Quotations, Storm Chasing, University</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:21:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleIvy/pseuds/LittleIvy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t Shakespeare, painting pictures with his quill tip; just a boy with a festering mark on his arm and a storm in his head.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>HP Drizzle Fest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>though she be but little</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for HP Drizzle 2020! Prompt #7: One of the courses at wizarding university is creating and controlling weather. </p><p>Huge thank you to my betas Jamethiel and Dave! xx</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Brevity is the soul of wit,” said a man whose incurable sin was talking too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco tapped his wand against his knee, staring down the slope of the lecture theatre at his professor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Professor Vaughn rocked back and forth on his feet. “I shall try to keep this brief.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks, Polonius.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco’s attention drifted out the window to where Alcatraz stood at the centre of a brewing storm—</span>
  <em>
    <span>’twixt the green sea and azured vault</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Shakespeare would say. Its sombre beauty pulled at him. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, he’d felt his insides decaying. Old passions faded, the new ones feeling depthless in comparison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other students stood up and raised their wands, and Draco followed along because that was what one was supposed to do. His wand was warm in his palm—hawthorn, dragon heartstring, eleven inches. New. It chose him just before he moved to California. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything inside moved in greyscale—except for her. She bloomed colour, her and her ugly jumpers. Sometimes blue, but mostly red. Gryffindor red. Blood red. Red like her lips as she called him foul, evil, and slapped him across the face. Hermione </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> Granger with her wild hair and pin-straight arm begging to be called upon because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> she knew the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flicked her wand, and a miniature snowstorm leapt to obey. Streams of cloud issued from a dozen wands, filling the lecture theatre with moisture and a heavy layer of nimbostratus. Raindrops spattered against Draco’s skin. He sent a stratus cloud half-heartedly eddying between the desks, picking up loose scraps of parchment and scattering them every which way. As it reached the front, his whirlwind abruptly faltered, sucked up by a roiling mass of cumulonimbus billowing from the end of Granger’s wand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach clenched. His eyes flared wide, and he stumbled, slapping his hand down on the desk. The stupid girls surrounding Granger oohed and aahed at her display—at the cumulonimbus she had created stealing </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> stratus clouds. His chest glowed with white-hot rage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wind picked up, frizzing her hair until it was almost its own creature. With a decisive sweep of his wand, Draco lopped off the edge of her cloud and added it to his own. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s see how you like it, Granger. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her head whipped around, glare locked on him. He almost felt the physical weight of her eyes against the side of his head. Wind howled between the desks, stripping away the cobwebs of his mind. He was nothing but magic and anger and grim satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger siphoned his rainstorm away. Her eyes glowed above flushed cheeks, chest heaving with the effort of tearing pieces from his conjured storm. What would it be like to duel her in earnest? His chest stuttered, anger giving way to a swoop of excitement. Would her eyes shine as they were now, looking as vibrant as he felt? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stood alone with her in that swirling tempest, magic coursing through his bloodstream and sizzling across his skin. Her lips curled back from her teeth, and she ripped her arm down in a vicious tug. Her magic tore like barbs through his own, cleaving at the edges until it abruptly loosened in a sharp crack of lightning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room wavered into focus. Her face emerged through a haze of slowly rotating snowflakes—the remnants of their two clouds. Raucous applause roared around them and the spell broke.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking Americans.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco tried to catch her eye, but Granger turned her back, stuffing books into her bag. Colour leached away again, the world fading to the all-too-familiar monochrome. He packed his books with numb fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crush of bodies swept him towards his next lecture on the far side of the castle. When the crowd thinned and the corridors went quiet, he felt it. Electricity zapped between the raised hairs on his arms in time to the slapping footsteps getting nearer. A hand hooked around his elbow and dragged him about-face, and there she was, a living, breathing storm cloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you playing at?” Her chest heaved, eyes bright and tempestuous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was so close he could steal her body heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever could you mean?” he said, head cocked, a finger curled under his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes flashed. “You humiliated me in front of our peers.” She blinked rapidly and Draco realised the sheen to her eyes were angry tears threatening to spill. “That ridiculous display—it's like we’re still at Hogwarts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Humiliated you?” Fire licked at the edges of his gut. He swallowed the acrid smoke tickling the back of his throat and took a few deep breaths. “You started it when you stole my clouds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stole your—It’s water vapour, for God’s sake! Are you really that childish?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. Granger glared up at him when he opened them, like Hestia set on poor Demetrius. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There is no following her in this fierce vein.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know why you’re upset.” He stepped so close he could count every eyelash around her blazing eyes. “You can’t stand being second best. Well, guess what? I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> second at Hogwarts. Every single class, second best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes went hard as amber. For half a heartbeat, Draco thought she would whip out her wand and duel him right there in the corridor. His stomach flipped, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> be second best. I came to the Institute for a reason, Malfoy. You’re a minor inconvenience, not a threat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She adjusted her book bag and flounced away before Draco could speak through the smoke in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco seethed for the rest of the day. Lectures passed in a fog. He couldn’t remember any of the material though he’d taken pages of notes. He flexed the cramp from his fingers as he walked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where the hell am I going?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The residual adrenaline steered his feet, and soon he was outside the castle, descending the cliffside stairs to the beach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Black sand shifted beneath his shoes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A minor inconvenience.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Who the fuck did she think she was? His tie was tight around his throat; he could feel it digging into the flesh with every shaking breath. He ripped it loose and slumped against a boulder. The surf rolled in with the thunder, fat raindrops soaking him through to the skin. What was she doing to him? He’d been at the Institute for over a year, and she was enrolled in all of his courses. They used to ignore each other. She never used to bleed colour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He focused on the stinging rain and booming thunder; let it wash her carmine stain from his mind’s eye. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The icy fang and churlish chiding of the winter’s wind…</span>
  </em>
  <span> He couldn’t remember the rest. Tucking his legs to his chest, he watched the churning sea and ever-shifting storm clouds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The owl came when his fingers and toes were numb. It hopped onto his knee and dropped a letter on his lap before flapping right back up the cliff. Draco fumbled with the seal, read it over, and promptly flung it into the sea. His stomach roiled like the water. The wind sent the letter right back in his face, and his rage spilt into his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He scrunched the envelope in his fist and stalked across the beach. He could murder Professor Vaughn. Cast an Unforgivable just like that, if doing so wouldn’t get him expelled and shipped to Azkaban.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the steep ascent to the castle, the rest of the quote snapped through his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When it bites and blows upon my body, even till I shrink with cold, I smile.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco wasn’t smiling, but as he dripped rainwater through the empty corridors, anticipation rose in his chest. If he was annoyed, Granger would be fuming. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Where would she be on a rainy Friday afternoon? They had an International Wizarding Law essay due next week, so likely the library. Draco cast a drying charm as he walked and went through what he was going to say. The words didn’t form as crisply as the quotes he plucked from plays—he tried speaking them out loud under his breath, but the summoned snark felt forced. A portrait stopped brushing its horse and stared at him. Draco’s mouth snapped shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop being foolish.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clutching the letter tightly, he shouldered through the double doors to the library and found her sitting right on the other side. His rehearsed confrontation abruptly fled. Merlin, don’t let her have seen him. Draco strode for one of the window seats and ensconced himself in the heavy drapes, setting his head against the wall. He wanted to go home. Not to England, not to Malfoy Manor, but to his mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Enough of that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He summoned his latest reading and slammed it open across his knees. He had one and a half years left of this meteorology certificate, and even if Polonius bored him senseless, he was not going to drop it and run home. That would mean She had won, and he couldn’t have that. He was second in their year—a </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> second. The final exams were crucial to determining the top prize.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to review his notes, but his head wasn’t in the right place. An hour of reading would settle him. The storm rattled the window panes as the handwritten pages sucked him in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Screw your courage to the sticking-place, </span>
  </em>
  <span>indeed. Draco ignored the strange trickle of guilt and kept reading until a wand smacked down on the centre of the page. Intricate vine patterns snaked up the handle to a tightly curled fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” Granger’s face flushed pink right up to her ears, “is </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She brandished an identical letter at him, waving Polonius’ expansive signature in his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her owl must have arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you’ll find it’s a letter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sparks flew from her wand tip and scorched his illuminated pages. She winced and stowed it away, smoothing her hair away from her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been invited to participate in an Honours project, writing a research paper on an extreme weather event.”  She unbunched the letter and read it again, but the parchment soon found itself in another tight ball. “It says the points won’t be applicable unless we present the paper together.” She spat the last word like venom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco cast a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reparo</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the peppering of burns across the page. His jaw was so tight he could hear his molars creaking. He forced his voice to come out levelly. “I can’t imagine your horror, having to work with such an </span>
  <em>
    <span>inconvenience.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s optional,” Granger said. She looked like she would unfurl the letter again but couldn’t seem to find the strength to pry apart her balled fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew she’d be furious. It lit something in his chest to see her so put out, practically vibrating from the injustice of it all. The window seat felt warmer, and he noticed that the cushions were blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed the book and settled back against the wall. “I wonder if old Vaughn has offered the same opportunity to whatever her name is, the girl with the lisp—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lacey Chapman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lacey Chapman. She’s third in our year, isn’t she?” He lifted his eyebrows innocently. “Only half a grade behind you and me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger was quiet for a long time. She looked like she was sucking on a lemon drop, eyes growing narrower until he could barely see her irises through the thin slits. She folded her arms and jutted her chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s set some ground rules. Number one: </span>
  <em>
    <span>equal</span>
  </em>
  <span> division of labour. I refuse to allow you to ride on my coattails.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like being told off by a Gryffindor Prefect. A gleeful flicker went through Draco and he fought back a grin as the scales of Granger’s mind tipped back and forth. Top-in-class position, or working with him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Secondly, we decide on our project this weekend. I want to finish it during the Easter holidays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s due in June.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The less time we spend on it, the better.” Her lips pursed even tighter, almost disappearing into her old-maidish features. Scrape her hair back, slap on some tartan, and she would be ready to teach Transfiguration. Her eyes dropped from his face to the book in his lap. “What are you reading?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers curled around the cover. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Macbeth</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyebrows flicked up, relaxing the harsh lines of her mouth. Her mane trembled as she quickly shook her head and turned up her nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not supposed to say it out loud, you know. It’s cursed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What in Salazar’s name…?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He turned the book over in his hands as though the embossed leather would hold an answer. When he looked back up again, she was gone. He saw her tottering to the other side of the library—as far from him as possible, it seemed. Her book bag looked like it weighed about two stone; she walked on a slight lean. Why didn’t she use a levitation charm?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He folded his arms against the cold seeping through the window. Granger settled into a desk, piling it high with books, and started scribbling on a bit of parchment. She was only just visible between the stacks. She sucked on the end of her pen and a wash of heat surged up to his face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop it, stop it, stop it. Think of something else.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Equal division of labour, she said? Draco sat up and flicked his wand, pulling books from the shelves. He’d do her one better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hours slid by in a blur of ink until his eyes found her once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her library was dukedom large enough.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Granger, up to her elbows in books, lorded over three study desks. Draco rubbed a hand across his forehead. Why had that line hit him? The quote wasn’t even correct, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Tempest</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t all that good. Prospero forgives the traitors and, what’s worse, renounces magic. Idiotic old man; forgiveness isn’t freedom, </span>
  <em>
    <span>magic</span>
  </em>
  <span> is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped staring at her from behind a bookshelf and walked up behind her. Night had fallen, and the library was empty. Golden lantern light ensconced Granger’s desk. His shadow eclipsed her, creeping up the back of her head and across her sprawl of books and parchment, blotting out the bright red of her jumper. Cold skittered down his back. He angled his shoulders so that his shadow fell on the desk, instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, Malfoy?” She covered her essay with a territorial elbow and glared up at him over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s fingers tightened around the book he was holding. A biting retort flew to the tip of his tongue, but he noticed a faint freckle on Granger’s cheekbone and his breath inexplicably caught in his throat. He dropped the book in front of her; it sent up a puff of dust, hazy like the snowflakes from that morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve decided on our project.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger arched an eyebrow and pointedly turned her essay face down. Swivelling to face him, she said, “Go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco squashed down his irritation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t need to steal your precious essay to beat you, Granger. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Professor Vaughn loves two things: talking, and wind speed. Where is the windiest place on earth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antarctica, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A smirk tugged the edge of his mouth. The bunching in his cheek made him start, like seeing someone in Diagon Alley when you haven’t seen them in years, not since his Hogwarts days, and their eyes meet but Pansy looks away and doesn’t meet his gaze again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed thickly, wrenching his thoughts to the present. Windspeed. The project. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Focus. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrong,” he said, but he had to force himself to sound smug. The book sprang open when he tapped it with his wand, rustling to a black and white photograph of a hilly high street. “Wellington, New Zealand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re supposed to gather research in person. How are we going to get halfway around the globe? It’s hard enough to organise a Portkey within America, let alone having to go through the Magical Congress to organise an international Portkey. It’s not going to happen.” She summoned a huge tome and thunked it open on the desk. “Besides, the windiest place on earth is Commonwealth Bay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flush rose up Draco’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears when he read the page on Antarctica. She was right. Of course she was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you suggest, then?” he snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger sniffed. “You’re forgetting that Professor Vaughn’s other passion is cumulonimbus clouds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She marched across the library, hair bouncing behind her, and Draco trailed after with dragging feet. Merlin, even her gait was swotty; toe to heel like she was bouncing towards the bookshelf that would prove him to be a dullard. She tapped a drawer on the far wall with the tip of her wand, and it floated down to hip height. Within a shimmering glass case lay an aged map of the United States, covered in glowing dots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger ran her finger over the glass, right above a tight cluster of lights in the south. “This is a real-time reflection of all active tornadoes. See the different colours?” She tapped her wand over the mass, dimming all but the pale yellow pinpricks of light. “The map is coordinated to follow the Muggle Fujita scale. As you can see, there are several moderate tornadoes,” she flicked her wand again and the lights faded, leaving only one orange dot wavering in the middle of Georgia, “and one severe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco curled his fingers under his chin. A project on Tornado Alley… “It’s not a bad idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect. We’ll go to Kansas in the Easter holidays.” Granger stuck out her hand, staring at him down the length of her nose. “In and out, just to beat Lacey Chapman. Deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco took it. Why was he not surprised Granger shook hands like a man? “Deal." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>+++</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The absurdity of chasing an active tornado across the flat, featureless plains of the central United States hit Draco when he saw the sky darkening like a bruise. He twitched the curtains to one side and the sickly yellow light fell on him. Cold nails dragged down the back of his neck, but when he looked at the sky, there was no skull hovering between the virescent clouds. He pulled the curtains and turned to face the motel room, wiping his hands on his slacks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The end of term had found him and Granger meeting soberly in the Institute foyer while the rest of the students ran off to join in with the Muggle revelry of ‘Spring Break’. Draco hadn’t understood the appeal—to hear them tell it, it was a time when young Muggles took to the beaches and drank to excess. Apparently the copious drug use masked any accidental magic, making it the perfect time to mingle with ‘No-Majs’. Draco certainly enjoyed a tipple as much as the next man, but to stumble blind-drunk through a sea of sweaty strangers? No, thank you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d be spending his Easter break with Granger. They walked in silence to the Disapparition point, the only sound the rattling of her beaded purse as she toyed with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all you’re bringing?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started, as though forgetting he was there, and promptly scowled at him. Her tiny bag echoed like rumbling thunder when she shook it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you, there’s more than enough space.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She marched ahead, her coattails—the ones he was supposedly riding on—flapping behind her. It was a handsome coat, maroon wool with gleaming gold buttons, and very nicely fitted, clinging to the small of her back and flaring out, complimenting her… </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Merlin’s balls, rein it in. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco followed her onto the raised platform, keeping his gaze fixed on the distant mainland over her shoulder. In his peripheral vision, he saw Granger holding her wand between her teeth as she tied her hair back, preparing to Disapparate. Her hand closed over his left forearm and his eyes snapped down to her face. An electric shock rippled along his skin, straight to the pit of his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrenched his arm away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t touch it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Don’t touch me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger’s eyes blew wide, but only for a moment—they quickly narrowed to venomous slits. She curled her lip and fisted a hand in the material of his cloak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies, Malfoy. While I’m sure the thought of me dirtying your clothes is utterly horrifying, we can’t exactly walk to Kansas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to explain, to tell her that’s not what he meant, but she was already twisting, dragging him into the dark crush between places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco watched her fuss around the motel room as he wiped his damp palms. Sweat prickled across the back of his neck, even though the room was cool. She made the space a little less grim, replacing the peeling wallpaper (with red and gold brocade, but did he expect anything less?) and vanishing the musty bed sheets. Her maroon coat lay over the back of a freshly upholstered wing chair. The gold buttons winked at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger herself wouldn’t even look his way. He leaned against the windowsill, folding his arms to hide the tremble in them. Queasiness sloshed around in the pit of his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you’ll have to transfigure everything back the way it was when we leave, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glared over her shoulder and disappeared into the bathroom, no doubt Scourgifying it like mad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know there was only one room left,” she said, the bite to her voice no less sharp through the walls, “but that doesn’t mean we have to speak to one another.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pressed his lips together. The urge to snap back at her simmered beneath his skin, so close the surface he could practically feel annoyance seeping from his pores. It was like the cold sweat and trembles evaporated, leaving him free to stomp to the narrow bed and flop across it. Even lying diagonally, his feet jutted over the edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger’s bed was only two steps away, separated from his by a shared bedside table with an ugly blue vase filled with fake flowers. Her pyjamas were neatly folded on top of the pillow—a grey t-shirt and tartan-print bottoms. He huffed scornfully through his nose.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling onto his back, Draco summoned </span>
  <em>
    <span>Macbeth </span>
  </em>
  <span>and read it with his head lolling off the edge of the bed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We will eat our meal in fear, and sleep in the affliction of these terrible dreams that shake us nightly. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He let the book rest open on his chest as he groaned and swiped a hand down his face. The mention of food had made him hungry, but he hadn’t packed anything in his trunk, which meant he’d have to talk to Granger, who would probably bite his head off before he got a bite to eat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sloped to the bathroom and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “Are you almost finished? I’m starved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had been in there for ages. The glower she gave him made Draco glad a stubborn patch of mould on the ceiling was at the business end of her wand; not him. Loose curls had escaped her plait, frizzing all around her head like a halo beneath the artificial lighting. Granger’s deep frown cast shadows across her entire face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop hovering. I’m trying to make this room livable!” When he didn’t move, Granger shooed him out with her wand. “Well? Go on! You should at least be working on the preliminary stages of our project.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at her with one hand planted on her hip, her hair askew and her wand tip sparking, Draco couldn’t help the image that arose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school, and though she be but little, she is fierce. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He lifted his hands, conciliatory, and backed out of the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His current notes on tornadoes were rudimentary at best. He understood how tornadoes worked, the level of destruction they could wreak, but Vaughn wasn’t just interested in the mechanics. He wanted to know the magical significance, which spells were effective against them, and how their massively destructive nature could be used to disguise magical mishaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tornado may have been used to explain away the events after the Quidditch World Cup. Draco caught a glimpse of Granger and uncomfortable heat prickled up his neck, suffusing his face. He scrubbed at his cheeks with closed fists, trying to push out the sound of his reedy voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d said foul things in that little copse of trees at the edge of the blazing campsite, peering through the branches to catch a glimpse of his father, even if he couldn’t see his face beneath the silver. ‘Mudblood’ had fallen from his lips as freely as rain from the English sky, and his insults became more vicious than deriding where Granger was concerned. He didn’t know why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as he taunted and sneered, his words held an undercurrent of something unfamiliar. He meant it when he told Granger to keep her bushy head down. Watching the Muggles lurch around mid-air like puppets on invisible strings made him feel nothing but vague glimmers of dark humour, but the thought of seeing her strung up at the tip of a wand… it didn’t sit right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger slipped out of the bathroom and fixed him with the same look she had back then—a faint wrinkling of her nose as her eyes tracked him up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going out to fetch us some dinner. If you don’t like what I buy, you can go hungry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His book rustled in a harsh gust of wind when she marched out the door and slammed it shut behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The minutes dragged on like a painful Quidditch match; the kind where the rain falls in sheets and the Snitch is nowhere in sight. Draco’s stomach gurgled. He peered through the crack in the curtains, but the concrete outside was deserted. Fat raindrops pinged against the glass; the way they rolled, lazy and meandering, gave everything outside a dreamlike quality. It made Granger look like a wavering band of colour when she finally returned with two brown paper bags.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She threw one at him. It hit his chest in a puff of hot, greasy air. If not for his Seeker’s reflexes, he wouldn't have caught it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco peeled the paper aside with his lip curled. “What is this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger perched herself on the edge of the wing chair with her ankles crossed, popping skinnier and yellower versions of the chips served at Hogwarts into her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just try it.” She brushed salt from her fingertips onto a serviette spread across her lap. “Consider it American cuisine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco unwrapped his food with the caution of one opening </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Monster Book of Monsters. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Out of a bright yellow wrapper came what he presumed was supposed to be a burger, the top bun so glossy it reflected the light. He leaned in and gave it a tentative sniff. A real burger most certainly did not smell like that—he had eaten enough of them in Germany with his parents to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their lakehouse by the Schluchsee was one of his favourite holiday homes. Flying over the Black Forest at sunrise, the trees little more than smudges far below, icy wind against his cheeks—it was freedom as he had never known it. The house-elves learned to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>frikadellen </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the locals, serving it to him as a snack in the afternoons after he had finished flying, or swimming in the lake, or any myriad of activities he engaged in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was why Draco knew that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>burger had no business tasting as good as it did. Salty, savoury, distinctly unhealthy tasting—he practically felt his arteries clog with every bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up to find Granger grinning, half hiding it behind the violently red chip punnet. Her eyes were oddly bright, but she wouldn’t hold his gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco cleared his throat. “What I said before, back at the Institute—”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malfoy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just let me say this. When I said don’t touch me, I didn’t mean—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malfoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, Granger. I’m sorry for what I said, and I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed herself out of the chair and was suddenly in front of him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Malfoy.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Her hand was on his cheek and he was embarrassed to feel his breath catch. What was she doing? His throat was so tight, he couldn’t speak. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her, put his hands on her hips, hold her as close as she held him. His eyes fluttered closed. If he wanted. What did he want?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something rustled, closely followed by the feel of sandpaper against his skin. His eyes flew open just as Granger stepped away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had sauce on your face,” she said, tossing the used serviette into one of the empty bags. “Now, what were you trying to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to Disapparate on the spot. The heaviness in his stomach had nothing to do with the greasy food and everything to do with the fact that the echo of her hand on his cheek sent pulses of electricity straight to his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Salazar. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Being so close to her made his sanity slip, and he hated it. He hated her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cocked her head as she stared at him. No, he didn’t hate her. Far from it. He hated himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nothing.” He cleared away his rubbish with a few waves of his wand, avoiding her eyes. “I’m going to retire for the evening, shortly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gentleman that he was, Draco let Granger use the bathroom first. She was in and out in ten minutes, dressed in her McGonagall pyjamas. Her tight plaits made her look like a first year. By the time Draco was finished in the bathroom, she was already curled up in bed with her back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time marched on while the wind screamed outside, buffeting the walls, coupled with the singing of the rain. Sleep eluded Draco. It was strange to him, hearing another’s breaths so close beside him when, growing up, he had had his own wing, sleeping in utter silence interspersed only rarely by the albino peacocks in the vast gardens outside his window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He listened so keenly to Granger’s breathing that he knew instantly when she fell asleep. Sleep came for him soon thereafter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He woke to the sound of screams. Granger thrashed in her bed, tangling the covers closer around her with every convulsion. Draco shot to his feet and was at her bedside in a heartbeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She babbled something that he couldn’t understand, her words breaking into sobs and screams, back arching clear off the mattress. Draco didn’t touch her—he didn’t want to hurt her—but everything inside him screamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>do something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His heart pounded in his chest, trying to break free from his ribcage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione, wake up! It’s not real!</span>
</p><p><span>A violent shudder went through her—the tremors of a </span><em><span>Crucio. </span></em><span>Nausea rose in him.</span> <span>He reached out to shake her awake but her eyes flew open. She stared up at him, breathing hard, eyes wild.</span></p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t quick enough to stop her fist, Seeker’s reflexes be damned. She lashed him across the face, hard. He tasted blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He touched his lip and swore when it came away bloody. “Fucking hell, Granger!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She put her head in her hands, chest heaving, before lurching out of bed and running to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. The sound of her retching reached him through the thin walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco slid back into bed and stared at the ceiling, but he knew sleep would not come to him. All was silent on the other side of the wall. Granger still didn’t come back to bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He padded to the bathroom door. Knocked twice. “Granger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried again. Still no response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door was unlocked. Draco slipped in and found Granger curled up in the bath, brow furrowed in fitful sleep. Draco pulled the duvet and pillow from her bed, carefully arranging it so that her head wasn’t resting on the cold ceramics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slept restlessly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>+++</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rain splattered against Draco’s skin and dribbled down the back of his neck. He flipped his collar up, but needn’t have bothered—the updrafts of the distant tornado whisked the rain away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger walked next to him, a splash of crimson against the sickly green sky. They didn’t speak about what had happened the night before. Yet another thing to add to the list of things left unsaid, he supposed. Draco looked at Granger sidelong; she pretended not to see him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to speak, to somehow apologise, but how could he form words capable of expressing that sort of remorse? There were some places words couldn’t reach. He wasn’t Shakespeare, painting pictures with his quill tip; just a boy with a festering mark on his arm and a storm in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash of lightning arced from the cumulonimbus, shuddering to ground in hot purple veins. Another bolt speared down, cracking down the centre of a large oak and setting it aflame from the inside. In the distance, trees and broken buildings hurtled over the open fields, spinning in a wide circle around the tornado.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could anyone live out here? Draco squinted at a splintered barn door as it flew past. No one else was insane enough to be out in this weather—they must be holed up somewhere, as he and Granger likely should be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed past him into the gale, hair whipping around her, and conjured an analytical spell. A miniature tornado hovered, bright orange, in front of her. The label next to it read three hundred and climbing. The real tornado swirled steadily closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco yanked her back by the collar just as a piece of wood pelted past where she had been standing. A tremor ran through her and her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her over the tearing wind. He pulled her close against him, his body a shield against any further debris. She could thank him later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger couldn’t hear him, Draco knew that, but he still tried. “We should get out of here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed him away and pulled out a small red notebook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air was electric with magic. Draco’s pulse rioted, slamming at the side of his throat every time a clot of dirt broke against his back. How long until another deadly shard of wood came along and ran him through? Sweat prickled across his forehead. A powerful gust of fresh-cut grass and raw earth smell slammed into him. He lifted his head to see the tornado creeping closer, deceptively small on the horizon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco had felt so small only once before, in his dining room, with Professor Burbage twitching just above his dinner plate. The Dark Lord had been to Britain what the tornado was to those empty plains; a maelstrom of power incapable of containment or control. You could only hope to come out unscathed after the air had snatched you up and spit you out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky flashed again, bringing with it the sharp scent of ozone. Granger, scribbling furiously in the little notebook, struggling to keep it out of the wind’s grabbing fingers, refused to move. The air changed, rushing past them like the whoosh of surf against the black beach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s time to go!” His words disappeared into the gale. The airspeed crept to three hundred and twenty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thunderhead parted, showing the barest sliver of green sky before the bruise-dark clouds gathered again, and a sudden squall stung his face. He tugged blindly at the back of her coat. The tornado loomed, and a cold fist closed over his windpipe. Was she stupid? They had to go, before it was too late. The wind snatched air from his lungs, black spots hovered at the edge of his vision, but he didn’t let Granger go. He couldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breaths came quick and fast. Sweat dripped down the side of his face and made his palms slick when he fumbled for his wand. It was so thin and breakable, barely anything in his hand. There was nothing this stick could do against a monolith of twisting air. He cast a quick </span>
  <em>
    <span>Impervius </span>
  </em>
  <span>on his face to help against the driving rain, but he could still barely see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled at Granger’s arm, but she kept writing until the wind wrenched the notebook from her fingers and threw it into a far-off field. She leapt up, actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>running after </span>
  </em>
  <span>the damned thing, but Draco caught her around the waist and pulled her back. She kicked at his shins, her yells reverberating through his torso.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tendons in his neck jumped. He fought his quaking breaths enough to holler, “Stop! Just stop! We’re going to die, you foolish witch!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hauled her away, trying to run with her through the buffeting wind, and she finally stopped fighting him to stumble alongside. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, fuck, fuck. We’re going to die. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco chanced a glance over his shoulder just to see the tornado lurch closer. He’d survived the unimaginable, a damned </span>
  <em>
    <span>war</span>
  </em>
  <span>, only to be murdered by a bloody university assignment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t see, couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The tornado was so close, everything within two steps blurred into unrecognisable blotches of green and grey. Then, a solid black form through the haze. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please be a building. Please be a building.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A rundown shack wavered out of the thundersquall, and Draco cast his thanks to every god he didn’t believe in. He steered Granger towards it, shoved her inside, slammed the door behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shack groaned like a maw about to swallow them whole. Chunks ripped free from the walls and disappeared, leaving patches of waxen green light in their place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco, here!” Granger hefted a trapdoor open and jumped down. He plunged into the darkness after her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small, disused cellar unfolded around him in the light of Granger’s ignited wand tip. Rusted farm tools lined the walls, and a moth-eaten couch in the centre of the space threw up a cloud of dust when Granger sat down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a waste of time,” she said, warming her hands in front of a bloom of pale blue flame she had conjured. “We’ll have to wait for it to pass, now, and observe it from a distance. And my </span>
  <em>
    <span>notebook</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She tsked, pressing a knuckle to her forehead. “You should have let me catch it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shock like one of those purple lightning bolts went through him. “Are you mad?” She looked up at him, eyebrows raised, and the shock burned into something white-hot. The wind howled and moaned outside, but he couldn’t hear it over the rushing in his ears. “I should have let you walk into a tornado? Fucking hell, we could have died!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we didn’t, and now my notebook with all our notes is gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forget about the assignment.” Draco wanted to take her by the shoulders and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shake her</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He bit his tongue. Rigidity snapped through every limb, coiling inside him so tightly, he fought to even free his mind. The brightest witch of their age, but her mind travelled in one direction only, incapable of detours or stops or anything not detailed in her personal itinerary. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Infuriating</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “After everything you’ve been through, are you willing to die? To have your skull caved in by a flying branch? And for what—a slight edge over Lacy Chapman? Wake up, Granger. None of it fucking matters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It matters to me.” She tilted her chin up, glaring between him and his right hand. Draco still had his wand out, and he hadn’t even noticed the sparks falling from it. “I thought Harry gave you back your old wand,” she said, her eyes still hard as brick. “That one’s new.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There it went, the familiar coil of bitterness on his tongue. He shoved his wand away. “He did, but its allegiance wasn’t with me. It didn’t work as it did before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The harsh line of her mouth softened. She leaned forward, lips slightly parted. “In what way?” Her eyes gleamed in the pale blue light. She tumbled down the academic rabbit hole, head over heels, curiosity over anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco sighed through his nose, dropping his chin to his chest. “In all the ways you would expect. Spells were weaker, or they would rebound and destroy something. I had to get a new one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Granger hummed, running her thumb over the intricate vine carvings on her wand. “It’s all very fickle. Mine was confiscated by Snatchers, when…” She trailed off. Her eyes flicked to him for a moment, then quickly away. She cleared her throat. “Anyway. We managed to steal it back, and it reacted stronger to me than ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s throat thickened. He drummed his fingers on his bicep as he looked down at her. She wasn’t sitting on the couch with her legs curled up under her, but lying prone on the floor of his living room, crying softly after Aunt Bella had left. The gale howled above them. Draco felt it reverberate in his ribcage, right down to the bone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He coughed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. “Granger, I’m—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t.” She must have seen something on his face, because now she was sitting bolt upright, her wand clutched in a white-knuckled hand. “Don’t,” she said again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever emotion he had been feeling quickly curdled into white-hot anger. Couldn’t she see he was trying to apologise?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what you’re trying to do, and I said no.” The grip on her wand softened and she looked down at her hands. “I’m not ready to forgive you yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flopped down beside her, the wind yanked from his sails. Resting his elbow on the arm of the couch, he carded his fingers through his hair. Not ready… yet? Did that mean she would forgive him someday? His stomach did a little somersault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, the storm raged on. The shack screamed from the force of the wind’s ripping fingers, made louder by the crushing silence between him and Granger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She played with the blue flames, conjuring animals and making them prance around the cellar. He wondered what shape her Patronus took. Did she have a Patronus? Draco looked at her sidelong. She smiled slightly as she made her flame-cat gambol around with a glowing ball of yarn. Of course she could produce a corporeal Patronus—she was smart, determined, and likely had no dearth of happy memories to draw from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would his Patronus be, if he had one? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a ferret. He shuddered. Perhaps an eagle-owl, or some other such bird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room dimmed. Granger’s fire had petered to a candle-sized wisp that barely illuminated her face, but he could see the gleam of her eyes. She was watching him. Heat prickled up his neck—he had been staring at her, lost in a daze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She searched his eyes for a few moments, flicking back and forth between them. Gazing evenly back at her, Draco caught every infinitesimal shift in her expression. The air between them grew thick. His stomach fluttered from her proximity. His skin ached from her distance. A crease appeared between her brows, her jaw worked as she chewed the inside of her cheek, and just for a moment, so quick he must have imagined it, her eyes dropped to his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fire blazed across his face, through his chest, </span>
  <em>
    <span>lower. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He shifted, crossing one leg across his knee, and gave thanks for the cellar’s enduring darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forcing himself to speak and fill the heavy silence, Draco said the first thing that came to mind. “What will we do for the project?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raised her eyebrows at him. “I thought you said it ‘didn’t fucking matter’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I changed my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would she stop bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>staring </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him? He was a butterfly in a glass case, pinned under her gaze with his wings limply fluttering. No one else made him feel so self-conscious just by looking at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco knew she had turned away when the weight lifted. She rummaged about in her beaded purse, pulling out a camera with a huge flashbulb on the top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to make it up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco gaped at her, and she flushed a—quite frankly, very fetching—shade of pink, and quickly added, “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Once the tornado passes, I’ll take a picture from a distance for our report. We’ll still consult academic sources, but fudge the numbers. Don’t look at me like that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not looking at you like anything.” He lifted his hands, conciliatory, and hid a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He mustn't have done a very good job at hiding it, because Granger huffed and puffed and paced the cellar until the tornado passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When all was quiet, they climbed through the trapdoor into an open field. The shack was gone. Granger snapped about a dozen photographs of the distant tornado, only stowing her camera away when Draco made an impatient sound at the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held his upper arm when she Disapparated and landed them squarely in the middle of the motel room. Before the lurching in Draco’s stomach had even passed, Granger was waving her wand and returning the room to its prior dingy state. Warmth shivered across his skin from the place her hand had touched. He swallowed thickly, pressing his palms to his cheeks, and found Granger watching him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood facing each other, the furniture deteriorating all around. Red and gold wallpaper peeled off in sheets, curling into neat scrolls that zipped towards Granger’s purse and disappeared with whispering swishes. Draco’s pulse hammered under his ear. He kept his eyes firmly on the opposite wall as Granger stepped forwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stopping only when they were nearly toe to toe, she whispered, “You can say it now.” Her breath ghosted against his collarbone and another shiver went through him. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>For everything. Forgive me. Please. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He dropped his gaze, finally looking her in the eyes. Big mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time travels at different speeds for different people, or so he had read. It stopped cold when Granger looked up at him from beneath her lashes. His pulse galloped, skipping a beat when she leaned up on her toes, bringing her body heat closer. What was she doing? He breathed shallowly so the scent of her wouldn’t make him melt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gently captured his lips with her own and the storm in Draco’s head quietened, every swirling thought settling to the bottom of his blank mind. His world narrowed to the feeling of her mouth on his, of her hand curling in the fabric of his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss was over before it truly began. One moment she was in his arms, his hands just barely brushing against her hips, then like mist, she dissolved, pulling away and turning her back. She continued packing her belongings as though nothing had happened and didn’t even look at him when she took his arm and Apparated back to the Institute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried talking to her the next day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Granger!” His footfalls echoed through the deserted corridor. “Granger, wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pretended not to hear him. He caught up to her easily, touching her elbow to make her look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She whirled around and snatched her arm away. “What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her ferocity staggered him. To kill the urge to reach out and tuck a flyaway strand behind her ear, he curled his fingers into fists. Bright, sharp pain blossomed in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What did he want? He tried to speak, but no words came. Hermione shouldered her bookbag and walked away, and the pain dulled into an aching numbness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t in class for the next week. His daze passed, sharpening into vexed thoughts needling his brain in the insomniac hours. Why wouldn’t she speak to him? He stared at the ceiling of his dormitory. Waves crashed far below, shuddering through the dark like a poor imitation of Hermione’s soft breathing. He hadn’t been able to sleep without it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Professor Vaughn’s classes were the worst. They received top marks for their project and the desired edge over Lacey Chapman, but it was a hollow victory. When Hermione returned, he had to watch her taking notes in the front row. He figured out her rhythm, how she would write for precisely a line and a half before dipping her quill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were paired for a discussion segment of the lecture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The difference between a thunderstorm and a thundershower is that the latter has less rain and does not typically last as long,” Hermione rattled off matter-of-factly, then sat staring at the blackboard with her hands folded neatly on her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something inside him snapped. “Are we ever going to talk about what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione turned, very slowly, to face him. Draco’s skin buzzed when their eyes met, but the feeling fizzled in an instant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened was a mistake which will never be repeated.” The bell rang and she shot to her feet. “We needn’t speak of it anymore.” She looked like she would say something else, but her lips snapped shut and she hurried away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She should have just punched him in the gut. Draco sat in the lecture theatre long after it had emptied, waiting for his legs to stop trembling. Looking at Alcatraz through the window did nothing to soothe him. It looked different; the sombre beauty had shifted in a way he couldn’t quite place. He picked out the cerulean in the surrounding water more keenly. The way he looked at the world, the way its very fabric spoke to him, had irrevocably changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because of her? He finally packed up his things and returned to his dormitory. He refused to believe one kiss could saturate everything he’d ever known and would know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You are Draco Malfoy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco, a never setting constellation, a network of the brightest stars in the firmament. Malfoy, a network of people worth their weight to the family in Galleons. He fell asleep with his own name reverberating in his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Remember who you are. She shouldn’t mean anything to you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But she did.</span>
</p><p><span>He slipped out of bed and threw the curtains open. She couldn’t hold his mind forever. He glared down the cliffs, willing the sight of the sharp rocks and black sand to scour all thoughts of her. No more remembering the soft curve of her lips. He would forget her warmth, her voice, her brilliant mind. She avoided him in the corridors, didn’t look at him in class. That was fine. She didn’t feel the same, no use fretting about it.</span><em><span> It’s over.</span></em> <em><span>Move on. </span></em></p><p>
  <span>Taking in the wine-dark sea helped until he saw her picking away across the beach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Salazar, did he fall for it. He would know her shape anywhere. His broom called to him, tempting him to leap out of the window and confront her on the beach.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He forced himself to go back to bed and lie there until he passed out from exhaustion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he saw her in the halls, he turned the other way, circling the entire castle rather than risk running into her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Two can play at that game, Granger. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He mentally kicked himself. They weren’t playing. They weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and that was fine by him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bells began tolling midmorning; deep, clamorous booms reverberating through the very island itself. He had forgotten the date. He let himself get swept up in the wave of shuffling feet moving to the courtyard, where the too-bright sun blanched everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The President of the Institute magnified his voice, but it was a meaningless buzz in Draco’s ears. He heard only snatches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… one of the Wizarding World’s darkest moments… remember all those who were lost…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His palms grew slick. All around, students and professors lifted their ignited wands to the sky, barely visible in the stark light. He fumbled for his own. Who was he remembering? Who could he raise his wand for? Vince’s face sprang to mind and his stomach hollowed. It dropped entirely when Aunt Bella’s appeared soon after. Neither were </span>
  <em>
    <span>good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>many wouldn’t consider them worth remembering at all, but they were the faces he conjured when he heard ‘casualties of war.’ Perhaps he shouldn’t. His wand hung limply at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand slid over his left forearm, whispering over the Dark Mark. He flinched, but then Hermione’s hand slipped into his and something inside him slotted into place. He felt the ripples of it down to his toes, this sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>rightness. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Silent tears tracked down Hermione’s cheeks, catching the sunlight. Her wand glowed brighter than anyone’s. She didn’t speak or look at him—only squeezed his hand—but she didn’t need to. Draco laced their fingers and lifted his wand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their hands were still joined when they left the courtyard and wended their way down to the beach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione pulled him to face her. “I shouldn’t have—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was really hurtful, what I said. I was just confused, and… and </span>
  <em>
    <span>guilty, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel something, and I need to let myself feel it instead of worrying about what other people might think—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thumb skated over her cheekbone, right over the little freckle he cherished so much. “Will you fly with me to Alcatraz?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione looked out over the water. For once, it was placid and jewel-toned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco didn’t realise he had been holding his breath until she nodded and it all whooshed out of him at once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>+++</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An owl pecked at the window of his London townhouse in the middle of July. Good, his exam results had finally arrived. He slit the envelope and out fell a ticket, glossy in the Muggle fashion. The picture of a man holding a skull aloft didn’t even move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco flipped it over and, handwritten on the back, a note read: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be waiting. Don’t be late.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The lady doth protest too much, he thought, and smiled.</span>
</p>
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